The World Is Too Much With Us

William Wordsworth, 1770-1850 The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;— Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that…

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The Reading Mother

Strickland Gillilan (1869-1954) I had a mother who read to me Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea, Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth, “Blackbirds” stowed in the hold beneath I had a Mother who read me lays Of ancient and gallant and golden days; Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,…

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Vitae Summa Brevis

by Ernest Dowson Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long. –Horace They are not long, the weeping and the laughter, Love and desire and hate: I think they have no portion in us after We pass the…

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The Brook

by Alfred Lord Tennyson I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.…

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The Lady of Shalott

by Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1842 Part I On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And through the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies…

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The Inchcape Rock

by Robert Southey, 1802 No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, The ship was still as she could be, Her sails from heaven received no motion, Her keel was steady in the ocean. Without either sign or sound of their shock The waves flow’d over the Inchcape…

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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost, 1922 Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods…

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The Cremation of Sam McGee

] by Robert W. Service, 1907 There are strange things done in the midnight sun ……….By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales ……….That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, ……….But the queerest they ever did see…

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The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God

by J. Milton Hayes, 1911 There’s a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, There’s a little marble cross below the town; There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew, And the Yellow God forever gazes down. He was known as “Mad Carew” by the subs at…

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My Country

by Dorothea Mackellar, 1904 The love of field and coppice, Of green and shaded lanes. Of ordered woods and gardens Is running in your veins, Strong love of grey-blue distance Brown streams and soft dim skies I know but cannot share it, My love is otherwise. I love a sunburnt…

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